rites

If you did know him, it was long ago." She turned her frightened-rabbit face from the prince back to Camaris. She appeared ready to turn from him just as quickly the second time, then something caught at her. She stared. Her eyes widened. Abruptly, her knees bent and she sagged. Swift as thought, Camaris caught her and kept her from falling. "Ulimor Camaris?" she asked in Nabbanai, weeping. "Veveis?" There followed a torrent in the same language. Seriddan's angry smile vanished, replaced by an expression that was almost comically astonished. "She says that they told her I had drowned," Camaris said. "Can you speak Westerling, good woman?" he asked her quietly. "There are some here who do not understand you." Eneppa looked at him as he steadied her, then let her go. She was dazed, crumpling the skirt of her dress in her gnarled fingers. "He ... he is Camaris. Duos preterate! Have ... have the dead come back to us again?" "Not the dead, Eneppa," said Josua. "Camaris lived, but lost his wits for many years." "But although I know your face, my good woman," the old knight said wonderingly, "I do not recognize your name. Forgive me. It has been a long, long time." Eneppa began to cry again in earnest, but she was laughing, too. "Because that is not my name in that time.

When I work in your father's great house, they call me Fuiri— 'flower.' " "Fuiri." Camaris nodded. "Of course. I remember you. You were a lovely girl, with smiles in full measure for everyone." He lifted her wizened hand, then bent and kissed it. She stared open-mouthed as though God Himself had appeared in the room and offered her a chariot ride through the heavens. "Thank you, Fuiri. You have given me back a little of my past. Before I leave this place, you and I will sit by the fire and talk." The sniffling cook was helped from the room. Seriddan and Brindalles both looked stunned. The rest of the baron's followers were equally amazed, and for some time no one said anything. Josua, perhaps sensing the battering that the baron had taken this night, merely sat and waited. Camaris, his identity now confirmed, allowed himself to sit down once more; he, too, fell into silence. His half-lidded gaze seemed fixed on the leaping flames in the fireplace at the table's far side, but it was clear to Isgrimnur that he was looking at a time, not a place. The stillness was interrupted by a sudden burst of whispering. Heads turned. Isgrimnur looked up to see Pasevalles walking straddle-legged into the room; something large and shiny was cradled against his small body. He stopped just inside the doorway, hesitated as he looked at Camaris, then moved awkwardly to stand before his uncle. "I brought this for Sir Camaris," the boy said. His bold words were belied by his shaky voice. Seriddan stared at him for a moment, then his eyes widened. 'That is one of the helmets from your father's room!" He nodded solemnly. "I want to give it to Sir Camaris." Seriddan turned helplessly to his brother. Brindalles looked at his son, then briefly at Camaris, who still was lost in thought. At last, Brindalles shrugged. "He is who he says he is. There is no honor he has not earned, Seriddan." The thin-faced man told his son: "You were right to ask first." His smile was almost ghostly. "I suppose sometimes things must be taken down and dusted off and put to use. Go ahead, boy. Give it to him." Isgrimnur watched in fascination as Pasevalles walked past clutching the heavy sea-dragon helm, his eyes as fearfully fixed as though he walked into an ogre's den. He stopped before the old knight and stood silently, although he looked as though any moment he might collapse beneath the weight of the helmet. At last, Camaris looked up. "Yes?" "My father and my uncle said I may give you this." Pasevalles struggled to lift the helm closer to Camaris, who even sitting down still towered above him. "It is very old." A smile stretched across Camaris' face. "Like me, eh?" He reached out his large hands. "Let me see it, young sir.